


Hello Mudder, Hello Vader

by Anonymississippi



Series: The Chronicles of Das Sound Machine [3]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Conservatory days, F/M, First recital, also, it's 2003, they're so cute and young
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 02:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4330695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymississippi/pseuds/Anonymississippi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their first recital for the Conservatory, Liesel and Pieter meet each other's parents, primarily by accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello Mudder, Hello Vader

The reception for the mixed chorale’s final performance of the semester was a modest affair. The administration at the music conservatory in Cologne had sprung for a single centerpiece and a suspect punch bowl in the lusciously carpeted lobby of the theater. Several of the vocal professors were milling about with favored students, chatting amiably with the few audience members who had elected to remain behind once the show had concluded.

This primarily left proud parents and antsy siblings, a smattering of nostalgic alumni, and a handful of benevolent individuals unaffiliated with the university (yet, said individuals possessed enough deep pockets and charitable inclinations that they contributed boatloads of donations to keep the heralded performing arts conservatory treading the fiscal waters year after year).

Liesel stood apart in her floor-length black skirt and blouse, scanning the crowd for any familiars. Pia and Gabriele were shamelessly flirting with Markus, despite the fact that Professor Krause was attempting to engage the star tenor in deeper conversation. There was Dr. Schwartz, with her wiry grey hair tucked into a bun wrapped up tighter than a burrito. The clique of first year sopranos she’d taken drastic efforts to avoid scuttled about from snack table to entryway, surreptitiously passing off cigarettes and lighters as if their vocal coaches weren’t standing two feet in front of them. She saw a few middle-aged people in various degrees of dress, rumpled ties and pleated skirts, some with cufflinks and others with the occasional stitched patch on a worn sport coat. It was the closest she would get to a formal recital in her first year, so seeing the parents of differing classes mingling, judging, and silently critiquing each other as well as their offspring only set her mental gears to rotating speedier than they already did: education, artistic or otherwise, would somehow always function as societal equalizer.

A clear plastic cup materialized before her; attached to it were the dampened corners of a white cocktail napkin and a set of calloused fingers, large and wiggly, that connected to the equally wiggly body of her best friend.

“Libation, Madame Kommissar?” Pieter asked, handing off the drink with a graceful flourish.

“What is this?” Liesel asked, eyeing the drink in hand.

“Just the punch they’ve got the composition students ladling out,” Pieter said, removing a flask from his black pants pocket. “And a little something extra, if you ask nicely.”

“No thank you. I’d rather not reek of booze at a professional reception.”

“Who’s reeking?” Pieter asked, upending the container into his punch glass. He had the cocktail napkin wrapped tightly around the plastic cup, disguising the discoloration of darker liquor and club soda.

 _Clever boy_.

“Party pooper,” he pouted.

“Liesel!”

Liesel turned about, nearly losing her grip on the proffered drink as a sandy-headed child launched itself into her stomach with all the force of a battering ram.

“Kurtis, do you want to have a soda shower?” Liesel chided lightly, unwrapping the death grip employed by the little boy latched to her abdomen.

“We go over this time and time again, but he turns the house into his own personal track,” a woman of healthy and average build, but significantly younger than most of the other parents in the room, approached Liesel and her congregation. “He cannot seem to leave the wings he attaches to his ankles at home, you devilish speedster.”

“Mama,” Liesel smiled warmly, passing the drink back to Pieter in order to fully embrace her mother. “It is so good to see you!” she said as she withdrew, eyes drifting downward toward her pouting sibling. “You too, _winzig_.”

“I am not _tiny_ , Liesel. I’m right here on you!” Kurtis stamped his foot in agitation, like a racehorse confined to its starting gate. He stuck his hand on the top of his head and raised it up an inch or two before hitting Liesel pointedly at the elbow. His fingers were sweaty and dirt-dusted.

“You can say that once you get to here,” Liesel conceded, motioning toward her shoulder. “Then we’ll reconsider the nickname.”

“Your solo was beautiful, _liebste_ ,” her mother said. “Just spectacular!”

“Selected for solo performance her first semester?” Pieter chimed in. “I suppose she was pretty good,” he teased.

“Watch it, you,” Liesel attempted to hip check the guy as she took her drink back. “Oh, Mama, you’ve not yet met—”

“The mysterious Pieter Krämer, Liesel?” her mother asked, cutting her off. Liesel watched as her mother gave Pieter a scant once-over, a sneaky, close-lipped grin spreading over her prematurely wrinkled face. The bright red lipstick peeled back over her graying teeth. “You mentioned those dark eyes, but never how handsome he was. You really shouldn’t make him carry your drink, _liebste_ , it’s demeaning.”

“ _Mama_!”

“Agatha Janssen, Pieter. So nice to finally put a face to a name,” Agatha said, extending her hand politely. “Liesel says you’re the best composer in the class.”

“… if he ever turned his work in on time,” Liesel muttered under her breath.

“We’ll have to see if they ever select my pieces for performance,” Pieter responded diplomatically, taking her proffered hand. “My professors say my compositions come off as sporadic, too… energetic, at times.”

“Why is that a problem?” Agatha asked. “If that is what you want to write? Isn’t music all about… expression, emoting, and… things of that nature?”

“Mama, there’s more to it than that,” Liesel said. “Was Papa able to—?”

“No, the rotation didn’t work out this time. He’d already switched with Lang to see Kurtis’s football game.”

“I scored two goals!” Kurtis jumped excitedly, hand flailing about in the air for attention. “I had to kick one of the other boys for fouling me.”

“Kurtis, you can’t go around kicking people you don’t like.”

“Now now, Liesel, let’s not be hasty in our advice,” Pieter said, leaning down in Kurtis’s face like some demented child whisperer. “You can always kick a stranger who might try to kidnap you.”

“Pieter!” Liesel snapped. "You can't tell seven-year-olds to go around kicking people."

“We just need to run through prospective scenarios, here. Quick, say you’re offered candy on the street—”

Kurtis crossed to stand before Pieter, and, like mother like son, placed his frail little fists on his hips and looked the silly composition student up and down with his sister’s scrutinizing eye for detail.

“I’ve decided not to like you,” Kurtis declared.

“Kurtis!” Agatha and Liesel hissed in unison. It was eerie how the sibilant pitch each woman made matched the other so well.

“Oh, you’ve decided, have you?” Pieter questioned, bringing his hand to his chin, rubbing it over, as if in thought. “I feel like I could persuade you otherwise.”

“I doubt it,” Kurtis said stubbornly. “Mama says you play with Liesel all the time.”

Liesel’s cheeks tinted to rose and her jaw hung loose. She stood, gaping at her mouthy little brother, bugging her eyes in a silent plea to her mother. Agatha, with all of her motherly intuition, seemed happy with the conversational trajectory and decided to stand back.

“We play music together. That’s why we go to school,” Pieter explained.

“ _I_ play with Liesel,” Kurtis said, shoving a pointer finger against his chest. “Got it?”

“Ja, wenig Kommissar!” Pieter answered, saluting her little brother with unexpected vigor. Kurtis delivered a perfunctory nod before turning on his heel and declaring, “I’m going to get a juice from the table!” He sprinted off between the adults, nearly knocking an elderly piano professor to the ground in his haste.

Liesel simply shrugged, shaking her head.

“If he keeps coming to my shows, we’re going to have to put him on a leash,” Liesel said.

“I’ll work on his theater behavior. You know this is… not exactly his usual crowd,” Agatha said, stepping closer to Liesel. “Nor mine, for that matter.”

Liesel watched as her mother flicked her eyes to either side, eyeing women in clothes more stylish than her own, with fainter makeup, better purses, dye jobs where no roots grew through.

“I know, but… thank you so much for coming. It means a lot to me,” Liesel said, hugging her mother close. “And Papa… you know he need not feel, that is… there are plenty of students here on scholarship. It’s not an issue—”

“Liesel, he wanted to come,” Agatha said, stopping her daughter’s floundering with a calming hand on her cheek. “It just didn’t work out this time. You have three years here, and I imagine you will do many more solos.”

Liesel determinedly turned her back to Pieter, dropping her voice. “You know if there is ever a money issue, they’ll let me work. Just say the word, and I can apply through the student’s support office.”

“Liesel, we’re not having this discussion again,” Agatha said tersely. “You are here to learn. To perform. Do what you do best, and stop worrying over the money. You’ve already done so much, getting those scholarships. This should be your reward, so enjoy it!”

Agatha enveloped Liesel in her arms and kissed her ear. “We’ll make do, _liebste_. But you can call your father at work,” Agatha said, passing over a slip of paper with a phone number on it. “He’d love to hear how it went from you. If you’re awake, he’ll be on break tonight at two.”

“I’ll set the alarm and use the dorm phone in the lobby. I’m… sad I missed him. Danke, mama,” Liesel said, releasing her mother fully.

“Bitte, sweet. But ah, we’d better go. The bus will be at the main station within the half hour. Ich liebe dich, little woman. Oh, and Pieter?” Agatha called, winking behind her daughter’s back. “Make sure she doesn’t study too hard, ja?”

“Of course, Frau. Jannsen. I’ll promise to be only the worst of influences.”

“That’s my boy,” Agatha smiled, herding Kurtis into her side after a brief hug from his elder sister. Liesel followed them to the entrance of the theater and waved as the pair bobbled down the steps.

Pieter was smiling ear to ear when she turned back around.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “I just see where you get it.”

“Get what?”

“The bossy,” Pieter replied easily. “That brother of yours is spirited.”

“He’s a little hyperactive. We let him play a lot of sports.”

“Your mother’s eyes are almost as blue as yours,” Pieter observed.

It… might have been a compliment.

“Uh… danke?”

“She does not seem like a mother to me. She’s cool,” Pieter said.

“Yes well, some go to conservatory at 17. Others…” Liesel trailed off.

“Have kids?”

“Accidents, kids,” Liesel replied off-handedly, smirking a little. She’d never been ashamed of her family. It was just a fact that hers would always be a little untraditional, especially considering the circles one rubbed elbows with when enrolled at the conservatory. She turned toward, Pieter, who had been regarding her carefully, propped up against the stone column of the theater.

“Why are you being weird?” Liesel asked.

Pieter chuckled and rubbed the back of his head, then brought his punch up to his lips and sipped at his drink. “You talk about my eyes to your mother.”

“Please, that was when I was checking to see if you had a _concussion_ ,” Liesel covered expertly. “Remember, the whole head wound in the bell tower incident?”

Pieter was about to retaliate, but his face crumbled into passivity nanoseconds before he could get out a comeback.

“Head wound, Pieter? Does _Vater_ know about this?”

Liesel turned to see a trim, deathly handsome man ambling up the steps. He was clad in a navy suit with hair tussled to fashionable perfection; his smile seemed perfect, straight little bright teeth with thin lips that looked deceptively familiar; he raised his wrist and revealed a watch worth more than a semester’s tuition, then abruptly turned his back on her.

“ _Mutter,_ I’ve found him.”

Liesel heard something shift at her side as she turned back around. She caught a glimpse of Pieter, no longer slouched against the column, but raised to his full height, jaw clenched and nostrils flaring.

“Jakob,” Pieter said, extending his hand professionally. Liesel stepped back for the handsome gentleman to take Pieter’s hand, but the moment was tense and silent. Both men looked like they wanted to crush the other’s fingers into gravel. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Yes, well, that happens when one doesn’t invite family to public events, doesn’t it?” the handsome man returned. “I see you’ve taken up father’s favorite pastime,” Jakob added, staring at Pieter’s doctored drink. “I bet you even took my flask. Best not let mother see that while you’re out in public.”

“Pieter!”

Liesel heard the trill of her friend’s name flip off the tongue of Anna Wintour’s doppelganger.

The woman’s hair was stylishly cropped, with highlights so blonde they disguised the grey. Her dress was a creamy white patterned piece of indeterminate material, her heels higher than necessary for her well-disguised age. And the jewelry she was wearing, though tasteful, screamed luxury. Her sunglasses were large, square-framed, and oversized. Liesel got the impression that she was speaking with an albino praying mantis, so white and twiggy was the woman before her. Being in the vicinity of a retired fashionista and scandalously-handsome-watch-guy after her first major performance was making Liesel’s head spin.

“Darling, you did so well,” the woman said, delivering two quick kisses to Pieter’s cheeks. She readjusted her glasses and turned away from the sun.

“How could you tell?” handsome-guy asked snidely. “Choirs… how do you know if Pieter wasn’t atrocious? Everyone else could have covered up his mistakes.”

“Pieter is section leader of the baritones,” Liesel spoke sharply, raising her chin and pulling her shoulders back. “They all follow his cue. You’d likely know if he messed up, since he’s basically in charge.”

The handsome guy raised one brow, but his mother beat him to the punch.

“Pieter, introductions, if you’d be so kind?” the woman asked serenely, showing off her own infallible smile.

“Liesel Jannsen,” Pieter replied, inclining his head toward Liesel. “Liesel is my good friend here at the Conservatory, Mama. She’s in my introduction to music theory module, as well as the mixed chorale. Liesel, erlauben sie mir, meine Mutter vorstellen. Wilfrieda Krämer, und mein bruder, Jakob Krämer.”

“Schön, sie wiederzusehen,” Liesel replied formally.

Wilfrieda then pulled Liesel close and kissed her twice, as did Jakob. Liesel did not find the exchange entirely pleasant. Again, Wilfrieda readjusted her glasses, but winced as she pushed the middle part up the bridge of her nose. Liesel noticed, as did Pieter.

“Mama, what is wrong—?”

“You were the one who sang so beautifully!” Wilfrieda pronounced. “I prefer _Tannhäuser_ in Wagner’s earlier works, but your rendition of Fricka’s solo from _Das Rheingold_ left me teary eyed, my dear.”

“See Pieter,” Jakob said. “If this falls through, at least you’re making good connections.”

“How’s Daniel?” Pieter asked airily, ignoring his brother.

“Oh, he’s doing quite well. He had top marks first term in maths,” Wilfrieda explained. “They took him into the honor society a year early.”

“That’s great!” Pieter said enthusiastically. “Did he get the birthday present I mailed him?”

“That CD with the weird blips on it?” Jakob supplied. “Yes, he got it.”

“Good,” Pieter said, his sneaky half-smile returning.

“ _Vater_ found it. I wouldn’t say ‘good’ too soon, Pieter.”

“Jakob, don’t antagonize him—”

“Meanwhile you drag me down here when I could’ve stayed on to observe the appendectomy,” Jakob rounded on his mother. “I don’t see how you expect me to get through clinicals if you insist on my attending every math tournament and recital—”

“Jakob, quiet,” Wilfrieda commanded. “We were here to support your brother, despite not being invited.” She furrowed that heavy Krämer brow, the botoxed wrinkles in her face more apparent in her vexation. “Pieter, just because your father is reticent, doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”

“Do not speak for me!” Jakob said, holding his hands up. “I never thought this was a good idea. At least Daniel’s got numbers on his side. Accountants attract stability.”

“We’ll go,” Wilfrieda said, placing a comforting hand on Pieter’s arm. “But you could call more than the obligatory once a month. I never see you use your mobile.”

“You have a mobile?” Liesel asked, surprised.

“I had hoped he would make use of the picture settings to show us how his university experience has been going,” Wilfrieda lamented. “But alas, this prodigal son has yet to return. He plays with all his fancy sound machines but can’t seem to take a picture for his poor _mama_.”

“I promise to bring pictures home for Christmas,” Pieter said with an eye roll.

“See that you do. You’ll be the hit of the party if your father would allow you to play.”

“Have you been trying to convince him again? You know how that went over last time,” Pieter said, and Liesel had never heard such concern, such utter seriousness in her good friend before. “Don’t push the issue if it makes him angry, _Mama_ ,” Pieter continued, eyeing Jakob, who had catapulted down the steps when his own cell phone started ringing. He was gesticulating wildly, cheefing on a cigarette like some metrosexual dragon. “Just… wait until I’m back for winter break. I’ll… I’ll make Daniel another CD.”

“Fine, ja,” Wilfrieda said, touching the handle of her overlarge glasses again. “Liesel, lovely to meet you. See that my boy contacts his family every once in a while. We don’t ask for much really.”

Wilfrieda turned on her pointy stiletto and clicked down the stone steps of the conservatory’s theater, tugging Jakob along as he continued yelling into his mobile phone.

“Bye!” Pieter hollered, waving a big arm at both mother and brother. His mother turned and delivered a practiced wave, while his brother kept walking, holding his middle finger above his head for Pieter’s benefit.

Pieter slumped back against the column on the front steps and rubbed his eyes with his fingers.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said instantly. “They are about as warm and snuggly as Arctic porcupines.”

“That’s your family,” Liesel said. More of a statement than a question, but there was definite doubt in the notion.

“Ja, I know,” Pieter said, taking off down the steps.

“Wait, Pieter—”

“I’m just going to head back to my apartment,” Pieter explained, backpedaling down the sidewalk. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Liesel.”

“… on your mobile, Pieter?”

“What?” Pieter asked.

“On your mobile phone. That takes pictures. You’ll call me from your private apartment, not on the conservatory’s grounds. That you drive to, in your own car,” Liesel said.

Pieter scratched his head and didn’t say anything.

“The reason you didn’t call your family, when I took you to the hospital that first night…” Liesel began, chewing the inside of her cheek nervously, “… is it because your brother’s training to be a doctor?”

Pieter scratched his face, stood on his tip toes, stared at the sky and the ground, then finally motioned for Liesel to walk with him.

“Partially,” he said, as she fell into step beside him.

“Care to elaborate?”

“Not on this subject.”

“Your father tossed out your brother’s Christmas present.”

“Birthday present," Pieter corrected. "And my father,” Pieter said cheerfully, “can go to hell.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it, Liesel. It’s not a good situation.”

They walked along the riverside for several blocks in silence, lost in their individual thoughts. Pieter ducked into a shop and purchased a six-pack of a lighter beer. Liesel knew he preferred darker ones, but she was with him. Damn considerate, and damn frustrating.

“Would you like to watch a film?" he asked, turning the key in the lock. "Or just… I don’t know, play something? My guitar's here, and I have no interest in deconstructing the Beethoven string quartets after that.”

“The performance, or the ambush from your family?” Liesel pushed.

“Please, don’t press,” Pieter said calmly, popping the top from his beer bottle. He took a gulp or four at the counter before moving to his couch and falling heavily on top of it.

Liesel trudged about the kitchen, stalling, opening cabinets she knew were empty, staring at the contents of an unappetizing fridge for far too long. She finally grabbed one of the beers and popped the top, then sat at the furthermost end of the couch, a significant distance from Pieter. He was sprawled in his black choral concert wears, staring out of his window at the river.

“How long has your father been hitting your mother?” Liesel whispered, staring at her beer bottle.

Pieter took another gulp, attention still focused outside. Far, far away from the conversation. He put the beer on the coffee table and stared at his knees.

Liesel took a few more sips of her beer, then repeated his action, setting her own bottle aside. She chanced a look at her friend, happy to have bumped into him, as bizarrely as their initial meeting was. It… didn’t mesh, not any of it… loud, boisterous, giddy, brilliant Pieter… and those people he called his family.

Or maybe… those people he didn’t call. Who just… happened to be his family.

Liesel clutched the numbered stickie note in her pocket, thinking about an early morning phone call with her father on shift. It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t—well, it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been.

“For as long as I can remember,” Pieter mumbled.

“Do you wish to talk—”

“No,” Pieter said decisively. “I want to show you my omnichord. I used it to make Daniel’s CD.”

“Okay, sure,” Liesel said, waiting for Pieter to return with his fancy, sound-bending tech machine.

Hours later, after the tension had dissipated, a movie had played, and the beers were gone, Pieter said, “He’s a surgeon, my dad. That’s why I didn’t want to linger at the hospital, or fill out any paperwork myself. Not that I could have, bleeding like I was.” He moved back toward the kitchen and stared at the microwave, bobbing his head along with the popping corn kernels.

“Okay,” Liesel nodded, moving toward Pieter’s backpack. She rummaged about and finally found the CDs he’d checked out from the library. “Homework?” she asked, but Pieter just kept nodding with the popcorn.

 

* * *

 

It was nearing midnight and the pair had been listening to Beethoven for hours. Somewhere around the allegro of the Fifth String Quartet in A Minor, Pieter spoke once more:

“He makes a lot of money, so she won’t leave him,” he said. “And I didn’t want to, but… it’s… and Daniel’s older now, so it’s not as bad…”

“Hey,” Liesel said, unplugging her headphones and setting her pen aside. “You don’t… I’m not asking…”

“Yeah, I know,” Pieter answered. “I don’t… I don’t like to talk about these things.”

“Then we won’t talk,” Liesel answered, detangling her head phones from around her neck and removing the fifth CD from the boombox (which she finally decided was owned, not rented as she’d once suspected). She placed the final quartet of Opus 18 into the slot and pushed the play button. She held his hand until the final movement of the twenty-five minute piece played, and they didn’t really talk about it again.

**Author's Note:**

> Had to get it out of my head. I have fifteen years of imagined history/future between these two and it's frankly embarrassing. P.S., Pieter only uses his phone to play snake, since none of his other friends have one yet. And he's definitely not calling his family. So... snake it is. 
> 
> But he does have one picture on that new-fangled contraption. Two guesses as to who it's of. *snickers*


End file.
